Julian glanced at his father, who was talking to a gate agent, then looked back at me. “Mom, check your pocket when you get to the car,” he breathed. “Don’t let Dad see. And don’t call anyone until you read the message I send.” Before I could answer, he squeezed my hand once and walked away, his small shoulders rigid. My fingers found the edge of a plastic card.

Gregory turned and caught my eye, his smile thin. “Everything all right, Rachel?” he asked, too pleasantly. I nodded, but my heart pounded so hard I felt dizzy. In the parking garage, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number: “Mom, it’s me, I borrowed a phone. Dad cannot ever get that card. He is not taking me where he says.” Then the line went silent, and a black car pulled behind mine.